All You Have To Do Is Shout It Out
by Miss Anne Thropy
Summary: Moira's pragmatism changes the beach showdown, leaving Erik in limbo and Charles trying to deal.
1. Chapter 1

"_All because of you, I believe in angels._

_Not the kind with wings, no, not the kind with halos_

_The kind that bring you home, when home becomes a strange place_

_I'll follow your voice, all you have to do is shout it out" Rise Against_

_-"Give me one reason why I should stop" Eric told Charles as he held the missiles aloft, ready to start the war to end all wars._

"_Erik, they're just following orders!"Charles had screamed out, realizing a split second too late that was the wrong thing to say to a Holocaust survivor._

_Even Moira could see that was the wrong thing to say. Erik's mind was made up then and there was no power on earth that would change it. But Charles wouldn't give up so easily. Stupid, naive and sweet Charles was going to fight till the last possible moment. He was that much of an idealist and even though he was woefully overmatched, he still fought against Erik with all he had._

_It wasn't enough. She could see that after Erik had beaten him down and cast him off with as little effort as she would use to throw out garbage. Erik went back to controlling the missiles and it was then that she went into action, training kicking in without her even really noticing._

_She still didn't know what she shouted as she pulled out her gun. Erik barely paid attention to her or Charles, who was running to stop him, so determined was he to complete his task._

_She shot him then, finally catching his attention. He smirked at her, and made a move to deflect the bullet. Moira couldn't stop the jolt of triumph that had welled up in her at Erik's surprised expression as the bullet hit him._

_It jolted him backward, but the missiles wobbled in the sky. Some had fallen, but Erik still held most of them aloft. Charles had reached him and that had been when Moira's hearing had gone._

_She could hear Charles screaming and waving his arms around, but she couldn't make out any words. It was as if she was in a vacuum and had only one objective. Erik's eyes, although glassy with pain, were pinning her to that one spot on the beach. He was promising her painful retribution with his eyes, once he was done guiding the missiles to the ship. Moira didn't have any doubts that he would follow through with his plans._

_So she followed her training like the good agent that she was._

_She fired again, hitting Erik in the chest and knocking him backwards into Charles' arms. Charles screamed again and pulled Erik's helmet off and hurled it into the sea before he cradled Erik's chalky face with bloodied hands. Raven ran towards them and ripped Erik's suit open to administer first aid while Charles screamed and Erik gasped and spat out blood, his eyes opaque and unseeing as he lost the battle with consciousness._

_Moira's hearing had come back then, just in time to see the missiles had fallen harmlessly into the ocean and exploded underwater._

-"Goddammit!" Moira swears as she sits up in bed and tries to calms her breathing. She rakes her fingers through her hair and wipes the sweat that has pooled on her upper lip. She also wipes the wetness on her cheeks and forcefully pretends that it is also sweat from her nightmares.

She sighs, looks at her alarm clock and groans. It really is too early to be awake. Especially now that she has been put on what has been labelled as a leave, but is in reality the first step to pensioning her out of the CIA.

"Do not think about that." She tells herself as she pushes the covers back, gets out of bed and steps into the en-suite bathroom of her room. She gets ready in an almost mechanical haze, not thinking about anything except fulfilling her morning rituals. The last time she let her mind wander, she ended up crying in the shower in a bout of frustration and self-pity and she still hasn't forgiven herself for that weakness. Even though Charles might say it was normal, considering all that happened, she still feels shame whenever she remembers it.

Once she's ready, she gets dressed in a plain navy dress, stockings, and boots and heads down to the kitchen. She knows no one would be there. In fact, she counts on it; so that she can enjoy a quiet cup of coffee in peace, let herself wallow in pity for twenty minutes, and move on with her day. Despite it feeling like the world ended on a beach in Cuba that day, it hadn't. In fact, it still goes on with or without her permission, and she still has to make her peace with that fact. Her morning ritual was just that.

She goes down to the kitchen and measures out the water and the coffee for the percolator and has it burbling away in minutes. She takes down the mug she has claimed as her own, sets it on the counter, and goes to the icebox to pull out the bottle of milk she shakes to mix the cream before she pours it into the cup. Replacing it, she closes the door and nearly has a heart-attack when she comes face to face with a still serene looking Charles.

"Charles! You nearly gave me a heart-attack! Try to make some noise next time!" Moira chastisizes him as she shakily makes her way over to the counter and checks on the percolator to steady her jangled nerves and to quell the roiling disappointment in her stomach over having her quiet time interrupted.

"I'm sorry, Moira. I will make my presence known next time. If it is any consolation, your being in the kitchen also gave me a turn. I didn't expect anyone to be up so early." Charles apologizes as he goes to the cupboards and pulls out his own mug.

His calm tone makes Moira cringe and feel awful that she sees him as an intruder in his own kitchen. Considering that he was gracious enough to let them all stay in his home without any complaints, it is a shitty thing to do to him. Especially when he has his own worries and burdens to address.

"Moira, I understand. We all need our quiet moments. Especially after what happened in Cuba."

He moves over to the kettle and fills it with water. He sets it to boil before turning around and rooting around for the box of Earl Grey that Moira swore was bottomless. Moira watches his movements and tries to quell the "what if" thoughts that spring up at the sight. She appreciates his efforts to make her feel at ease and figured that she could smooth the situation over by keeping her thoughts down so that Charles couldn't pick them up. She never regretted making the decisions that she did. But she didn't want for Charles to relive them through her self-imposed guilt that she knows she needs to work through and let go on her own, rather than get Charles involved.

"Do you mind if I join you? I could use a cup of tea." Charles asks as he dumps a tea bag into his cup and pulls one of the kitchen stools up to the high counter. Moira quickly shakes her head and does the same. Even though she is mildly annoyed at having to share her morning interlude, she is glad that it is Charles that she has to share it with. He does talk a lot, but he also knows the value of being quiet and letting someone pull themselves together in order to face the day.

They sit in companionable silence until both the burbling of the percolator and the thin whistle of the kettle gets them moving again to get their respective fixes of caffeine for the day. It isn't until they take a couple of sips of their drinks that conversation tentatively starts up again.

"How is he?" Moira asks. She still can't bring herself to say his name and she hasn't explored why due to being unsure of the answer she would find. She doesn't feel bad for having shot him. She just feels bad that she hurt Charles by extension. No matter what Erik is, Charles still loves Erik and it isn't easy for him.

It is something that still stings. Like a bruise that is almost healed, yet still hurts when poked carelessly. She doesn't begrudge Charles his happiness. She can't say that she feels the same amount of warmth towards Erik. But she would be a hypocrite to not recognize that Charles makes Erik a better person due to this love. She can see that Charles is an anchor for Erik and that with time, Erik can heal the soul rending wounds he's suffered at the hands of soldiers and Shaw.

So she asks for an answer that she doesn't know how to properly react to, simply because she knows that Charles would appreciate it. And even though Charles isn't close to her in the way she would love him to be, he's a close friend and she's loyal to her friends.

"Still comatose." Charles replies and takes another sip of his tea. His blue eyes look tired, unfocused and distant as he speaks. He's been trying desperately to coax Erik out of the labyrinth of his own mind without success. Although he's tried everything and then some that Hank has researched...there's just no progress. No sign of Erik being alive except for the constant beeping of the machines he's hooked up to and the occasional tremor of metal in his room. Nothing more.

"Do you think he's going to stay that way for the rest of his life?" Moira asks him gently, trying to soften the question by the tone of her voice.

Charles rubs his eyes and sighs. "I wish I could say he won't, but even I'm starting to have doubts of it myself. He's so...lost. It's as if the shock of everything forced him to retreat and he just cannot find his way out. It's as if every time I just get a hint of his mind, it disappears as quickly as I found it."

Moira's eyes widen at the fact that Charles admits that much to her. He really must be at his wit's end if he's being that open about his lack of success with Erik. She doesn't blame him, since she's seen the long hours he spends at Erik's bedside with his fingers pressed to his temples until Raven or the other boys or even herself coaxes him to eat, to read, to help them train and to live. Sometimes, it's the nurse that deals with the every day medical needs of Erik's broken and comatose body that force Charles out.

Those are times that everyone has learned to avoid Charles. Especially herself. He understands the necessity of her actions, but understanding and seeing the aftermath of those decisions and accepting it are two different and very delicate and complicated things. Despite his powers and understanding, Charles is still human and one of the things he can't deal with well is seeing others helpless and in pain. Coupled with the fact that it was his best friend and love in that situation...it made for tense times.

"What will you do if he is permanently lost?"

Moira doesn't want to be the one to ask it. She'd rather leave that careful mine-field manovering to Raven, but the girl has her own demons to face and the boys are useless and no one has ever heard Janos speak and the devil looking guy terrifies everyone...so it falls to her by default. They all are wondering, but no one is sure when they should address the possibility. She would have waited a few months longer to bring it up, but with Charles admitting that he's not had any success in bringing Erik back, she knows she can't put it off any longer.

Charles' face suddenly goes smoothly blank and pale and Moira draws back, an apology already on her lips when Charles waves his hand abruptly and plunks his teacup down on the counter, sloshing the tea on the usually pristine surface.

"Then I will deal with it as the situation arises. But until then, I will keep trying. I won't leave him there when I can do everything in my power to help him. If you'll excuse me, Moira."

Charles wipes up the spills and deposits his half full cup into the sink before calmly exiting the kitchen, leaving Moira to her thoughts and to a coffee that is now even more bitter in her mouth than it had been before.

She ends up dumping it down the sink as well.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2_

"_All because of you, I haven't slept in so long_

_When I do I dream, I'm drowning in the ocean_

_Longing for the shore, so I can lay my head down_

_I'll follow your voice. All you have to do is shout it out"- Rise Against._

It's different this time around. He's not in the forest of ice and silver trees that have bleeding blooms dripping blood on the pristine snow and ice underfoot. He had been there quite awhile and he likes it better than the hot beach and the glaring sun and the garbled sounds of screaming and crying. He hates that particular memory. He doesn't know what is being said and it all hurts. He stays there for what feels like a long time, curling up into himself before he finally finds a doorway coloured a mercury gray and slips out of the beach and into the dark silver forest.

He wanders around and it is very quiet. The only sound most of the time is of the snow crunching underneath his feet. He thinks he hears that voice, whispering and talking and trying to say something to him. Let him know...he doesn't know what it wants him to know and it's frustrating. It's the equivalent of hearing only half a conversation and he wants it to just stop.

He notices that when his moods change abruptly, the trees will change shape. They don't turn into hideous, clawing things and that he's grateful for. No. They spread into even more graceful and more complicated flowers. It's as if his rage, sadness, despair and agony are transmuted into something utterly beautiful instead. The sight makes a slight burst of happiness warm his chest and for a split second, the memory of someone smiling just for him, flashes through his mind. But it gets lost too damned easily and he's left staring at a complicated flower the colour of blood.

It isn't until the entire forest has turned into a complex tangle reminiscent of Sleeping Beauty's forest that he finally finds his way out of that forest. He still hears that voice. But it's unclear to him. He just knows that the voice isn't a bad thing. He is left with the sense of an underlying warmth from a time he can't quite grasp. So he doesn't mind when he hears it in the background. He minds the forest a bit more and isn't too heartbroken when he finally leaves with it fading behind him.

He doesn't know why it disappears after him. One minute, he's in that beautiful silver tangle with bloody flowers. The next thing he knows, he's standing outside the Polish ghetto he and his family had been shoved in to after Poland had been occupied. Erik's actually surprised that he has that memory. He thought that it was long gone in the recesses of his mind. He figures that the years have made it the way it appears now.

He always wonders why the sky is grey and everything that he touches is dusty. The buildings are all black silhouttes and there aren't any people around. He can't find his mother, sister, or his father. He can't find anyone he knows. He's in a no man's land and he can't find the way out. He's crowded by skeletons in black wool coats and grinning death's heads wearing the sinister grey uniform of the German military.

It's a monochramatic nightmare around him and he can't run away from it. No matter how many times he escapes, how far he runs, he keeps seeing the same sights over and over again.

He doesn't cry. But he wants to. He thought he escaped this nightmare already. That it was safely hidden in the dark recesses of his mind. Sealed permanently in a box. He doesn't understand why the box has been opened and all these hideous memories have been jarred loose.

He doesn't understand why he can't get out and it hurts even worse when he realizes that he's back in the same scenario. Like a morbid loop of his worst nightmares being replayed over and over again. He's also deeply thankful that he at least isn't trapped in the worst memory of them all. He's sure that he would lose his mind if he had to hear those words spoken in a tremulous voice over and over again...

"_-ik. Erik. Erik. Come back to us. Come back to me. Erik...Please, Erik. Come back..."_

His head snaps up and he stays still. It's the first time since he's been wandering around that he's heard the voice that clearly. He stops and waits for it to come back, knowing instinctively that if he follows the voice, he will be able to find his way out of the ghetto and the forest and the beach. He waits and waits, hoping against hope that the voice would come back.

"_Erik...Erik...Answer me if you can? Erik?"_

He doesn't answer, but he follows the voice out into darkness...

...And finds himself staring straight up into Charles' bright blue eyes.

"Oh...Erik." Charles breaths out, relief all too clearly evident in his voice. He drops his head right beside Erik's. He doesn't say anything and Erik cannot understand why Charles is reacting that way. It unnerves him even more when Charles bursts into silent tears.

"Charles..." Erik manages to get that much out before Charles raises his head and looks at him, his eyes even more larger and bluer due to the wash of tears. He has to smile at the sight, despite his lips cracking and it forces Charles to choke back a wet laugh.

"Erik. Oh Erik...It's good to see you back, my friend." Charles whispers as he shakily raises his hand and pushes Erik's hair away from his face. Hair that Erik can now see is more white than its usual dark brown. He swallows hard and raises his hand shakily to trap Charle's wrist. The fact that Erik knows Charles is letting him unnerves him. Especially when he knows that the last time he had seen Charles, that wouldn't have happened.

"What...What happened?" Erik finally rasps out. Charles blinks wetly at Erik before his lips part several times before he finally speaks.

"Do you remember anything after the beach?" Charles asks him and Erik shakes his head. It's all blackness after he killed Shaw. He gets faint echoes of a beach and voices and pain. But nothing more came to him, no matter how hard he forced himself to think.

That blankness makes Erik grimace and try to pull the knowledge of what happened months past from the dark corners of his mind. But it's a failure. He knows that, but doesn't want to give up. He must know. He has to know...

"It's fine, my friend. Don't tax yourself." Charles soothes him. He can feel Erik becoming agitated and that is the last thing that Charles wants. Especially since Erik has just woken up and has very little strrength to spare. Already, Charles can see Erik's eyes begin to droop, the exchange having taxed him out.

"Too late." Erik whispers before his eyes slid shut. In seconds, he is asleep again. Although Charles understands Erik needs to sleep as part of the healing process, he hates that it is taking away time for them to speak regarding important matters. He doesn't look forward to the conversation, but he'd rather get it over and done with and deal with the consequences sooner, rather than later.

Charles shakes his head as he smoothes Erik's hair back again, using the touch to reassure himself that Erik is still there and not hiding in his mind again. Much to his relief, Erik has not retreated. Although his thoughts were light and sort of muddled, they weren't in turmoil or blankness. Erik is just sleeping.

He breathes a sigh of relief and removes his hand. Once he does that, he becomes aware of the headache that is pounding in his temples and the tremors in his hands at the effort of pulling Erik back into consciousness. He needs to eat and get some aspirin and maybe take a nap also. He knows he's going to need his strength for the next time that Erik is more awake and more coherent.

He laughs a bit self-deprecatingly at the thought before he leans down and presses a soft kiss on Erik's forehead, making him stir, but not wake. The small gesture brings a faint smile to Charles' lips, making him more optimistic about the situation. He wouldn't have normally been so demonstrative, but after months of uncertainty, he refuses to hold back any longer. Cuba had taught him that much, at least.

"Rest for now." He murmurs before he gets up and goes downstairs, leaving Erik sleeping peacefully.

He has just closed the door behind him when he senses Moira walking down the hall towards the library, pausing when she sees him.

"Charles. I just wanted to let you know that Alex called and they will be a little late getting home and...Is everything okay? You look exhausted! I was just going to the kitchen to make a snack, do you want to join me?" Moira asks, moving close and anxiously scanning his face.

"Yes, Moira. That would be good. We can talk more downstairs."

They walk in silence and it's not until Moira has finished making tea and simple sandwiches that she finally gathers up enough courage to speak to him.

"How did it go with Erik?"Moira asks after she puts the sandwich down beside his cup of tea. He debates sidestepping the answer, but quickly dismisses it. There's no point in hiding it from the person that has become his closest friend and his greatest ally in dealing with the aftermath of Cuba. He also respects her too much to lie to her. If he hadn't been so drawn to Erik that night and if her career hadn't been her sole focus in life, maybe things would have gone differently that night.

But even then, he knows that he's selling her short. He cares about and loves Moira, but it is Erik that he has given his heart to. That is just how things have turned out and they both agree that they make better friends than they would have made lovers.

"He woke up. It was brief, but he's awake." Charles answers Moira, his voice soft and full of wonder as he tells her the news the impact of it washing over him again, and making him more emotional than he normally would have been at sharing the news.

Moira's eyes widen as she reaches across the counter to lightly clasp Charles' hand.

"That is great news, Charles! I'm so happy to hear that!" Moira exclaims, and Charles knows that she means it. Already, he can feel the sense of guilt she was carrying ease substantially. No matter how much she tried to hide it, he was always aware of it lapping at the edges of her thoughts. But now, it is gone and he is utterly relieved at that being the case.

"Did you get a chance to speak to him about what happened?" Moira asks letting go of his hand to pick up her own cup, and take a long sip from it.

"No. I won't press the issue until he is ready. I don't want to overwhelm him. Especially since getting him up to date is the least of the issues I need to address with him." Charles points out.

"That won't be easy. Even for you." She replies as she lowers her cup, and picks up her sandwich.

Seeing her do that reminds Charles that he's not eaten yet, and he too follows suit.

"I am aware of the difficulties. I wish though, that I could be as aware of the reaction afterwards." Charles explains after taking a bite of the sandwich and swallowing it down.

"I know how I would deal with that situation. But then, even knowing everything about Erik doesn't give me a clue to how he would react to the news of what has happened here and to him."

"Could he react badly and destructively to being told he's paralyzed?" Moira asks, ever the pragmatist. Charles takes another bite of his sandwich, and chews thoughtfully as he ponders the question.

"I'm not sure, to be honest. But to be fair, no one would accept the news graciously. And especially not someone who has relied so much on his body not betraying him for survival." Charles replies. He's gone over it many times, wondering how he would deal. If he'd be accepting of it quickly, or deny it until it was simply impossible to do so.

Moira's lips tighten, but she says nothing. He knows, from the projections he has gotten from her before, she only regrets that she has hurt Charles. She followed her training and did what she had deemed right in the heat of the moment. Erik had to be stopped. A war had to be stopped. If Erik's mobility had to be the price that had to be paid to achieve those aims, so be it. But hurting Charles had never been on the agenda and that is something that she will never stop regretting. Especially if Erik turns his self-loathing and bitterness upon himself once he's fully aware of what happened to him.

"I don't mean to play the devil's advocate with you so much, Charles. But I'd rather ask the hard questions now-"

"I know, Moira. I know. And I appreciate that you are asking all these questions. But I won't have them until I talk to Erik. I know him, as much as you can know someone after being in their mind. But even then, I can't predict how he will react. He's exactly that. Highly unpredictable and that does make him both exciting and a foe to be reckoned with."

Charles cut in, making Moira raise an eyebrow and mutter a small prayer under her breath.

"Well, for your sake, I hope it's something you can handle. But if it isn't, you know where to find me. And I will listen and even try to give you advice that you will probably ignore." Moira replies as she cups her chin with her hand and raises an eyebrow as she looks at him.

Charles squirms under her gaze and wants to protest that's not the case. He does listen to her advice. Weighs it carefully before he combines it with his own actions. He has learned that much in months.

"Thank you Moira." He doesn't say anything else. For now, that is enough. He knows that if he says anything more, it could break the interlude he's gotten.

She smiles at him and pours out more tea, stretching out the moment for as long as they can before the boys and Raven come back from town and they have to continue domestics once again.

_Chapter 3_

"_I held your hand until the light_

_The scars were on the back_

_And all the time we were the right_

_Was it just retract?" Broken Social Scene_

Charles is sitting at his desk, pen scribbling across fresh white pages as he edits a long neglected article he's delayed publishing, but can't delay any longer.


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3_

"_I held your hand until the light_

_The scars were on the back_

_And all the time we were the right_

_Was it just retract?" Broken Social Scene_

"So are you going to man up, or are you just going to be a pussy about this like always?" Alex asks Sean as they sit on the couch, and pretend to watch the television. It's so that they kill a couple of hours before they have to go down to the kitchen, and start making supper. Neither Alex or Sean really likes the afternoon soaps that much. Moira's upstairs in her room, Raven and Angel are outside, and Hank has sequestered himself in his lab. Azazel and Riptide are hiding in the library, Charles is in his den, and Erik...they know where Erik is. His position hasn't changed in the last couple of months. So by default, it's up to them to keep everybody fed, since it seems that they're the only ones with a lick of sense when it comes to manouvering in the kitchen.

"Yeah, thanks for pep talk, Alex. You really know how build up a guy." Sean shoots back, parrying the question weakly. He shifts about on the sofa and turns his gaze away from the television,finally looking at his friend. Alex's got his eyes on the television, but Sean can tell he's not really watching. He's waiting for Sean to make the next move. They know the conversation was going to happen eventually. Alex shares a room with Sean, and there's very little that they don't talk know about each other. Besides, Sean knows that Alex is getting fed up of the constant inactivity of everyone in the house in regards to those kinds matters. Incarceration had taught him patience, something he grudgingly practiced, but didn't necessarily enjoy. So Sean knows that if he doesn't get on with it, Alex will probably make the decision for him.

"Am I that obvious? About Moira, I mean?" He whispers, making Alex frown as he concentrates on the question.

"The only reason she's not seeing it is because she's too caught up in her own bullshit. Just like the Prof, Hank, Raven, and almost everyone else in this fucking place." He snorts and shakes his head, the frown turning itself into a mirthless smile.

"You couldn't be more obvious if you tried. So you'd better think of making a move before she snaps out of it and makes it pointless to even think about. And then you're going to be the same as everyone else here." Alex points out. Although the words in themselves are harsh, his tone is simply matter of fact and that is what makes Sean really listen to his friend and weigh his words carefully.

"What if she says no, or that I'm too young or something?" Sean asks, his eyes swiftly moving over Alex's face as he looks for the answer that he wants to see.

"Better to know than to torture yourself and creeping the shit out of her during mealtimes and when she's watching the soaps." Alex replied, making Sean give out an indignant "Hey!".

"It's true, so don't even try to be indignant and deny it. So talk to her." Alex orders, punching him before he turns his attention back to the television.

"Or I'll do it for you and I can't guarantee that won't turn out in your favour."

"Tell me again why we're friends?"

"We're the only ones without massive emotional issues and can interact more with normal society despite the fact that you're socially inept and I'm an ex-convict."

"Right. I'll talk to her after dinner tonight then. I need that much time to get myself psyched up."

"Sounds good. We got half an hour to figure out who the father is in this Guiding Light episode."

Moira covers her mouth with her hands as she reads the letter that had just arrived with the afternoon mail for the seventh time. Reading it again doesn't change what is written on that heavy stock cream paper with its official letterhead stamped on the upper left hand side.

"_Dear Agent McTaggart, After much thought and deliberation, we have reached a decision and we are writing to inform you that despite your outstanding efforts in the field, your services are no longer required. You will receive a full pension for your efforts. Thank you again for your service and we wish you well. Best regards." _

All that work and and effort and it had ended up with a letter and a re-evaluation of her life and she wasn't even thirty yet. She honestly had believed that she would have moved up the ranks with her hard work and digilence. Never had she thought that she would have been quietly pensioned out due to her involvement in discovering mutants or stopping the next world war as plotted by a madman and nearly carried out by a traumatized and scarred survivor that she only just managed to stop by taking a chance that had luckily worked out in her favour.

As she recalled the bullets she had palmed off Joe Kinross in the ballistics department with promises of dinner at a later time (yes, she hated to fall back on her gender to get favours, but sometimes there had been simply no other way to achieve her goals. Besides, the end result was always worth the irritation of a few moments) she didn't think that they would have worked. It was all too new, the science and prototypes cutting edge, but she had to try. Joe did eventually get his dinner before she had been placed on leave and Moira only now wishes that she had thanked him much more profusely for giving her those bullets. He is never going to know what part he played in saving the world and Moira wishes that she could tell him, but it's too late to change that now.

But it had happened. She couldn't change anything, no matter how much she would have wanted to. She now needs to plan what comes next. What she needs to do after the period of mourning is over, because she knows that she needs to do that much before she goes on with her life.

Although Charles wouldn't mind if she stayed with him and helped out with his plan of creating a school for mutant children, she doesn't know if she wants to stay. Especially not now that Erik was awake and if she knew anything about the man, probably after her blood.

No. There was more reason for her to leave than to stay. She knows that even if Charles managed to talk some sense into Erik, her continued presence there would be antagonistic and a reminder of both his failure and of how his life was changed irreparably. Even with Charles at his side, Moira doesn't think that Erik would get over her shooting him to stop the end of the world. She won't stay any longer than she has to.

Now the only thing left is to build up the courage to tell Charles of her decision and deflect any of the objections that she knows Charles will throw her way to dissuade her to leave.

Having made up her mind, she looks at the letter again and puts it back in the envelope and shoving it into the desk drawer. She doesn't need to look at it again, now that she's got her answer. At the very least, she's gotten an answer after months of waiting and that is a relief in itself.

"Thank goodness for small blessings." Moira sighs,pushing herself away from the desk and standing up. Her back is cramped up from sitting at the desk and she needs to loosen the muscles. She adds getting something to eat on her list when her stomach makes an embarrassing growling noise reminding her that she hadn't had much to eat after her sandwich with Charles hours ago.

"Moira, Um...Ms. McTaggert? It's Sean. Uh. Supper's ready if you want to have something to eat."  
>The hesistance of Sean Cassidy's statement touches and amuses her at the same time; since he's still skitterish toward her, even though they have literally gone through the end of the world together. She knows though, that it is partly her fault, since she hasn't really tried to breach that divide to assure him that she's perfectly harmless and that he need not be so nervous and twitchy around her.<p>

She knows that it's partly because of the atmosphere around the mansion that he's been like that and she winces as it finally hits her how basically all of the adults have been so pre-occupied. Charles with Erik, Janos and Azazel with their own issues, Hank in his lab and Raven and Angel clinging to each other while she brooded over her future. Alex could take care of himself, she was well aware of that fact. Hank and the others could muddle, but Sean...exactly how old was Sean? Probably not much older than Alex, chronologically speaking. But mentally, she was sure that he was much younger than that.

Moira feels herself blushing in shame as she realizes that out of all of them, Sean is probably the one less used to being on his own. She wasn't there when Charles and Erik had picked him up, but she had gathered from Charles that Sean's homelife wasn't exactly great, but he had had more of a home than the others did. Brothers and sisters and cousins had made the bulk of his family and Charles had suspected that Sean had been more of a father than brother to all of them, but it was still a family and it is amazing that he's managed to keep his naiviety for that long under those circumstances. All of this comes back and she tries to compose herself so that she doesn't outright bawl when she opens the door and sees Sean.

She takes a deep breath and opens the door, determined that from that day forth, she's not going to shunt him aside. Yes, she can mourn. But the self-pity and isolation is over and done with. Sean and Alex may have learned to be self-sufficient, but that doesn't mean that they haven't been lonely.

"Hi Sean. Thanks for letting me know. Do you need help setting the table? Or to tell the others?" She asked, offering her help to the gangly youth that was standing in the hallway with bright pink cheeks and darting eyes.

"No. I mean...Alex's is telling the others. He...uhm...he suggested that I come and uhm...escort you, yeah, escort you to the table." Sean explains, his eyes bright and wide as he finally dares to look at Moira's face.

It is that look and the naked expression of _hope/want/need_ that finally does her in. He reminds her so much of Charles when he had brought Erik home-the same lost and bewildered look and the need for someone to tell him that it was all going to be allright somehow. It was bad enough to see that expression on a grown man. But it was even worse seeing it on someone that shouldn't have to face such cruelties for at least a few years more. She wants to cry. She really does. But she pushes it all down and instead smiles at him, all the while promising herself she's going to do better by him.

"Oh. Oh. Well, in that case, I'd be honoured. Thank you."

Although she feels she's a little stiff in the way she says it, the way that Sean's face lights up puts any doubts to rest for her. She's done the right thing and that eases the guilt and sadness substantially.

"Okay. Well, okay. Cool. We're having chicken tonight, with salad..."

Moira only smiles and nods at the appropriate moments and realizes that maybe she shouldn't have put off getting back into living for so damned long. Even though Sean is young, it is this exact thing that makes everything not quite as dark as before.

Charles is sitting at his desk, pen scribbling across fresh white pages as he edits a long neglected article he's delayed publishing, but can't delay any longer. He closes his eyes and sends out a gentle probe throughout the mansion. Everyone is accounted for. They are all gathered in the living room, watching the soaps. Well some are. Janos and Azazel are still sequestered in the library and Angel and Raven are walking around outside. Moira is sitting in her room, staring out the window and brooding over the latest letter she has gotten from the bureau. She is despondent and lost and he makes a mental note to talk to her as soon as he possibly can spare the time. He takes a deep breath and rubs his eyes as he brushes by Erik's mind lightly and breathes a sigh of relief at finding him deeply asleep, just like he has found him the last couple of times that he has telepathically checked on him.

The morning had worn him out completely and he hadn't shown any sign of stirring. Even after the nurse had long come and gone, Erik still remained asleep. Charles knows that Erik needs to sleep to recover, but he can't help but to be impatient with the situation. Especially when he needs to address the elephant in the room. That being Erik's physical injuries.

He sighs heavily and puts his pen down. He rubs his eyes and covers his mouth as he tries to reconcile the cold hard facts and the best way of delivering the news to Erik without alienating him.

Charles knows how important being mobile was to he needs to be up and ready to not show any weakness lest he give his opponents an advantage. He needed a sound and healthy body to flee and to get his revenge. His entire perception of his self is tied in how well his body serves him and now that has been taken away from him...

Charles gnaws on his bottom lip as he recalls the list of injuries that the doctor had given him that day as he had stood there with red-rimmed eyes and Moira practically holding him up. Nicked lung, broken ribs, internal bleeding, gunshot wounds, and a break between the two vertebra in Erik's lower back. The other injuries they had been optimistic in that they would heal.

Even without reading the doctor's mind, he had known that the other one would not, swelling or no swelling of the spine. He had enough experience with expressions to know that the doctor's holding back simply because he doesn't want to detract from the good news that Erik has survived being shot. He admits now that he had forgotten it all when Erik had lapsed into a coma, but now that Erik was awake...he has to come up with a proper approach and hope for the best.

He wants to plan the scenarios out. He is even slightly tempted to influence Erik's mind when the time comes. But he banishes that thought as quickly as it comes. No. He has his limits and he insitinctively knows that if he were to nudge Erik's mind, he could very well lose him forever. No.

He scrubs his face wearily with his hand and looks down at the edits he has made. He's got about three more pages to go and he wants to get the work done by the end of the week at least. He's not going to get it finished painting himself in another corner trying to figure out how a conversation he's not yet had will go. Despite what is going on in his personal life, he needs to work. And hopefully while he works, he'll be able to find the elusive answer to his dilemma.

Charles has just picked up his pen again and is just fixing up another mistake he's just spotted when what feels like a railroad spike drives itself into his brain.

He exclaims in pain and closes his eyes as his pen drops from his nerveless fingers. The metal in his study is vibrating rapidly enough to make noise and that spurs him to rush to Erik's room.

"Erik! Erik! Calm your mind! Erik! Please!" Charles begs as he stumbles down the hallway and forces Erik's _shock/anger/despair/agony_ out of his mind as he enters the room to finally have the conversation he cannot put off any longer.

The metal is vibrating and some pieces have warped in Erik's distress. But none have been shaped into weapons, Charles is relieved to note.

"_Charles? What's going on with Erik? Should we come up?" _Moira asks him and it is all he can do to not push her out and freeze her mentally. Her coming up to the room would create more problems, especially now that Erik is awake and looking at him with an expression of mute shock and rage as he looks down at his paralyzed legs, the covers having been torn off and flung carelessly to the floor. The sight of them is unnerving to Charles also, but he has to press on. He can dwell on his feelings later. Right now, he needs to calm Erik down and start some kind of dialogue.

"_No! Stay with everyone downstairs! I don't think your presence will help. Especially not now that Erik's found out the extent of his injuries."_

He can feel Moira's gasp and her quick assent before she slips out of his mind. He appreciates that, since he now has to deal with a loudly projecting Erik and metal being twisted and destroyed in his agitation.

"There's nothing to be done, is there?" Erik asks him, his voice harsh and ragged as he speaks and simply by speaking, he stops projecting so strongly and Charles is able to regain full control of himself.

"No. The impact and the bullets made sure of that." Charles replies as he moves into the room and sits down on the chair next to Erik's bed.

He wants to offer sympathy, but knows that if he does, it will be seen as pity and that is something that Erik won't abide. So he remains quiet, waiting for Erik to make the next move. His next move is to focus on all the metal and bring it back to normal, righting it to its proper dimensions before he speaks.

"So what happens after this?" He asks Charles, his gaze stubbornly fixed on his legs as if by keeping his focus on them, he can accept his changed circumstances and move on.

"I don't know. I only know that it won't be without friends, Erik." Charles replies slowly.

Erik nods, as if he had already expected that answer to come from Charles.

"I know. But right now, I need-"

"No. I won't leave. No matter what you say or do. You shouldn't be alone and I won't leave. I didn't leave before, I'm not about to do it now. So don't ask."

Erik laughs, but it's a dry rasp of a laugh.

"It's not going to be comfortable, being here with me."

"I know."

"Very well then. Stay."

It's not a ringing endorsement, but coming from such a prickly and proud man, it's enough for Charles.


	4. Chapter 4

"_If __you __believe __in __me,_

_I'll believe in you._

_I'm with you." The Stills_

Erik snaps at anyone that tries to close the drapes in his room and they comply, because that's the most reaction he gives them as he lies in the prison that his bed has become. He doesn't hinder the nurses or Charles or anyone that stops by. He doesn't fight. Nor does he co-operate. He is passive and not aggressive. Won't respond to any stimulus.

The only thing that holds his attention is looking out the window. Charles is dying to know what it is that keeps him captivated, but is too polite and too worried to pry. Even if his non-responsive state, Erik won't forgive the intrusion. So he waits.

He has no choice but to wait. Erik has somehow dampened his thoughts so much that Charles can only get small hints and smudges from them. Not the clear pictures that he used to get from the very beginning. That also worries him, but he buries himself in his work instead. This time, it's completed at the desk in the far corner of Erik's room.

He doesn't think or worry that Erik will try anything to end his life. He knows that Erik is too pragmatic and mulishly stubborn when it comes to survival. He has the keenest sense of self-preservation out of anyone that Charles has come across. He knows Erik isn't going to be one to end it all because of such an obstacle. After all, he has been Sonderkommando. Charles knows first hand from Erik what being a Sonderkommando entailed. No.

Erik is made of sterner stuff. He would survive. It is a matter of waiting and being patient. Again.

So Charles settles down to silently wait. After the terse and too short conversation between them, Erik has barely spoken. Other than the most basic pieces of conversation, he's refused to utter any more words. His nurse is worried. The others, no matter how much contempt and anger they had after the whole incident and what could have been, are getting worried. More worried than when he had been comatose. Moira herself doesn't come anywhere near the room. There's too much of a risk that Erik would simply try to kill her, rather than come to terms with his actions and how they prompted Moira's own actions in retaliation.

Charles loves and respects Erik, but he isn't blind to the man's faults. It became all too clear in Cuba that Erik isn't above petty acts of violence if he feels himself justified. It wouldn't do to put a target in front of him when he is teetering on the edge of despair and oblivion. Charles is an optimist, but he isn't going to be naive with his expectations. He has learned that lesson very well.

He watches the sky and the birds and the tree outside his window because that is the only freedom he feels has been left to him. He feels empty and torn and so broken in ways that he never thought possible even after the camps and the war and the loss of Magda. He hates himself, for falling in such a weak state. And for so long as well.

He's tougher than that. Tougher than the steel and iron that he can bend to his will. But at this moment, he feels even weaker and much more vulnerable than he has ever felt in his life. He knows it is because he can't run from this despair, like he has done before. He could always escape anything. But now…he's stuck. And reliant on others. Dependent.

He's promised himself time and time again he would never be at the mercy of any man. Even if that man was as altruistic as Charles. It's not that he doesn't trust Charles. But it has been forced in his life that even someone like that (_Papa.__Mama.__Erich.__Ruth.)_ will be ripped away from him due to the cruel vagaries of life. He cannot ever afford to believe in security being achieved from being with others. He knows better.

Yet…Erik knows that he's treading a path he's gone down before. He has to smile when his mind supplies that metaphor. It's not like he can ever do that again. Barring some medical miracle, he'll be stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. However long that may be. He might run out of luck and end up getting cut down in his prime. It isn't as if his family has proven long lived.

He smiles to himself at the morbid thoughts cluttering his mind. Gallows humour is an even lower form of wit. Even lower than sarcasm, he remembers Charles telling him as they had shared a good bottle of scotch and a challenging game of chess in those nights that felt like they would never end. His mouth quirks up in an even more bitter parody of his usual smile at that thought. How wrong he had been. How wrong Charles had been.

He closes his eyes and sighs deeply. He traces his fingers across the bedsheets and remembers the last time. He had been near starving, a spectre of himself standing by the ovens when he felt it the first time. That emptiness and bleakness that utter despair brought with it. The knowledge that there was utterly nothing to live for at all.

He bit his lip and remembered it all. Even though it hurt, he could see himself as he was back then. He hears Charles shift in his chair and tries to not project. Yes, Charles knows everything about him. It doesn't mean that he has to relive it alongside Erik.

_In that horrible uniform, He stands by his workplace. His mouth set in a taut line as he contemplates the electric fence that surrounds all of the camp. He has seen others make running leaps against the fence and get electrocuted, ending everything. He hates those days. He's not sure if he hates them because of the stench of burning flesh that hangs in the air long after the bodies have been dragged off the fence, or because it's a reminder of how little courage he has to end it for himself. _

_He is looking at the fence, all too aware of the whispering going on behind him. It's true that he's lost his will to keep on living against the grinding life that the camps are offering him. He keeps looking at the fence and no one is stepping forward to say anything to him. It's no one's business except his own. Life is sacred. He understands that. But he is already the walking dead, so if he does end it, will it be held against him? _

_He doesn't think about it anymore. Those questions, he isn't qualified to answer. Nor is he sure that he wants to, if he's honest. All he knows is that he's reached the end of his rope. He will do it. He just needs to muster up his courage to do so. _

_The day he's finally mustered his courage is the day that he sees her again. His heart stops for a second as he sees her profile. He knows it is her, but isn't sure until she looks up and allows him a glimpse of her throat. There. It's the necklace he made for her around her thin neck. His heart starts up again when he realizes with utter conviction that it is her. Despite all the time and all the hardships, he has found her again. _

_Dying is no longer an option. Survival is again terribly imperative. He can't die. Not anymore. Not when she's come back into his life. _

He opens his eyes and turns his head away from the window. He looks at Charles, who is still sitting at the desk, pen in hand and sprawled all over his journals, papers and books. His fingers are stained with ink and his hair is messy, showing all too clearly the signs of him running his hands through his hair. He's sleeping and in sleep, he looks even more boyish and vulnerable than he usually does.

Erik's gaze skims lightly over Charles' sleeping form, careful to not think too loudly. He doesn't want Charles to wake up. Erik knows how much time Charles has spent either guarding him or working to push his anxiety away. He's not that selfish that he'd begrudge Charles the erratic rest that their current situation has become.

It is in watching him sleep, tracing the curves of his cheek, his jaw, the lines of his shoulders and his back that it starts to unfurl inside his mind. It was the same as it was with her that day. The answer he had needed had all been found in the lines of her face. An answer that he hadn't known he had been seeking until them. It's the same now, as he takes in the lines and curves and colours that make up the solidity of Charles. Just like then, he had been searching for a reason to live. To not give up so easily and stay mired in his own misery. He didn't escape and go through even more losses to simply fade away in a bed.

Just like then, he had found it in a familiar face. Yes, it was true that he had Charles beside him this entire time, even when he didn't deserve the compassion that the other man had selflessly given him. But it was just now that he could truly see Charles clearly apart form the haze of depression and self-pity.

The realization hits deep and hard and is as bitterly painful and sweetly gratifying as it had been when he had been barely more than a man. He wants to tell Charles all of this. Explain it all and apologize, no matter how the words stick in his throat like broken glass.

No. He just watches Charles and tries to not make any sounds as he realizes the hard crunch of his will gathering up, like a solid blow below his breast-bone.

He was done wavering. He has finally found his reason for living again.

Charles comes to gradually, wincing when all the kinks from sleeping on his desk became obvious. He frowns when he looks at his watch and sees that he's spent several hours passed out cold when he should have been either writing or keeping watch over…

He turns to look at his self-appointed charge and has to work hard to hide the shock that he feels at having Erik's gaze focused on him completely, rather than being trained on the window to his left side.

"You needed to sleep. So don't make any excuses for it." Erik says, his voice slightly gravelly and not the same low, smooth baritone that Charles had been used to hearing from him before…

Charles desperately wants to find out what it is that has propelled the change in Erik. For weeks, he was as good as comatose, barely interacting with the world around him, his eyes like clouded glass whenever he mustered enough energy to look at anyone.

That glassiness was gone and it was instead replaced by that sharp grey-green look of purpose that had been there, Charles guessed, since he had been little more than a child interned in the camps.

Seeing its full force trained on him made Charles swallow hard and a bit of moisture prickle his eyes as relief flooded into him. He didn't think that Erik would look at the world like that any longer and would settle for letting himself wither away into a shell of his former self. He has never been so glad in his life to have been proven wrong.

"What changed?" Charles finds himself asking and flushes deep red when he realizes how blunt and how thoughtless the question is. Even if it is justified in being asked.

Erik smiles faintly. It's a slight spectre of his old smile, but at least there's no bitterness in it.

"I loved a Romani girl named Magda when I was a boy in Germany. I never stopped loving her. Even after Poland and the ghettos and Auschwitz. In the camps, being Sonderkommando, all I saw was death. All around me, I saw how little life was valued and I was ready to die."

Charles' hand tightened around his pen as Erik speaks those words. He's known this. But it is different to hear it being laid out in such accepting starkness as Erik is doing at the moment.

"But you didn't. Obviously." Charles adds quietly. Erik nods.

"I found her and my will to live again. It was after that we escaped." His mouth thins in remembrance of what happens after their escape. He doesn't need to elaborate that part. Charles knows it. No sense in dredging up more barely scarred over wounds for inspection.

"I didn't think that it could happen twice. But it did. I won't disappear in this room, Charles. Not anymore."

Charles swallows again and doesn't feel ashamed when he has to turn his face away from Erik after he is awash with the contact of Erik's mind, held back from him far too long.

"_Not__after__really__seeing__you__again,__my__friend.__"_

It hearing those words, spoken directly into his mind that give Charles permission to be overly emotional. Just that once.


End file.
